It seems that god had a special interest in Saho. Every evening, the blue of the sky would envelop the green of the valley. The sky would turn into a canvas of a dreamy painter, with colors changing their acquiescent identity every 10 minutes. The punctual sun would set in a brink. It never cared for its craving-for-more audience. It’s such a pity that this frenzy moment of evening giving away to night lasts for a trice. The most romantic part of the day does not have much time to spare. Isn’t life the same? The most beautiful period of the lifetime doesn’t last forever. All it leaves behind is memories. Sweet memories. Just like the day leaves memories of the evening to be recalled at night. No wonder we sprinkle some more romance into those memories to make them just-prefect. Who said one can’t day-dream at night?

Hazaro Khwaishe aisi ki har khwaish pe dam nikle
Bahut nikle mere armaan lekin phir bhi kam nikle

After 10 pm, this tiny village situated on a high plateau, on the right bank of river Sal, is dreaming. It’s an early to sleep schedule that this village maintains. 8 pm and every house is full of smoke lavishly emerging out from the chulhas. By 9, every household is through with its last meal of the day. Doordarshan still rules the entertainment charts. The news is what the whole village snoop voraciously. For it’s their only source of what’s happening outside their households.

Coming back to the 10 pm time slot, the whole village is already sleeping, or pretending to do so. Lights are off, and the murmurs, giggles, flutters, flapping, hushing, and other sounds make the rounds. Someone may be dreaming about a bollywood queen while fornicating with his wife, someone might be dreaming about what’s next in life, someone maybe dreaming about how to tackle the Gujjars, someone might be dreaming about how to tackle the Gaddis, someone might be dreaming about using weapons to defend, someone might be dreaming about using weapons to retaliate, someone might be dreaming of saving the herds, someone might be dreaming of occupying the pastures owned by someone else, someone might be dreaming of going to Chamba, someone might be dreaming about shifting to Punjab, someone might be dreaming about glorious days gone by, someone might be dreaming about gory days to follow.

Hadh-e-nigaah tak yeh zameen hai siyaah (dark) phir
Nikli hai jugnuo ki bhatakti sipaah phir

Everyone would be dreaming (or day-dreaming as I said before), till the deep slumber creeps in. Some may be satisfied with what they dreamt. Some might be tweaking their dreams. Some might relish that very dream for some more days. Some would forget it and go ahead with another. Some might try to recollect the next morning, and start dreaming again. Dreams, dreams, dreams, they are the soul of our body. They never die. They emerge and re-emerge.

Humko maalum hai jannat ki haqeeqat lekin
Dil ke khush rakhne ko Galib yeh khayal acha hai

And what was what Sarfaraz Ali did. Dream. But his dreams were not among any of the ones listed above. His life was a roller-coaster ride, yet he dreamt of love. A die-hard romantic, he’d do anything for love. Madly in love, yet shy.

Mohabbat me nahi farq jeene aur marne ka
Usi ko dekhkar jeete hai jis kaafir pe dam nikle

His face spoke of innocence and kindness. He was the god’s child, because nobody owned him when he was born. An orphan by profile, Sarfaraz was still lucky to get a surname. One Mr. Mahmood Ali adopted him, because he was a widower. How he became a widower was the talk of the town.

Mujhse na pooch mere dil ki kahani ae humdam
Isme kuch pardanasiho ke bhi naam aate hai

Mahmood was a hard-working laborer from Gurdaspur in Punjab. So hard working that he used to come home late and leave early. After 5 years of marriage, he realized that working hard wasn’t a good idea, as he got to know that his wife had illegitimate link-up with his neighbour, Fasan. Mahmood couldn’t stand that, of him being a cuckold. So he set his house on fire while his wife was cooking. When it comes to wrath, mankind is still not prepared to cope with it. Mahmood rented another place and lived with Sarfaraz who he adopted after 2 years of his wife’s ‘accidental’ death. Everyone knew that Mahmood had killed his wife, but nobody had the courage to say that in front of him, because they were scared of him.

Mahmood took care of Sarfaraz very well. Taught him everything he knew on earth. About Islam, about the world in general, about the outside world, about the way this world worked and about the way things should be. Every word of his was gospel for Sarfaraz. Being an obedient child, he never questioned him. Learnt to cook, read, work and grasp whatever Mahmood said.

Things changed with Mahmood very soon. He began to get irked on every onslaught from his bosses. He had lost whatever interest he had in his work. Because there was no one with whom he could share the grievances, he started to abuse Sarfaraz. He beat him for small mistakes or no mistakes at all. When things went awry, Sarfaraz eloped from the clutches and tyranny of Mahmood.

At the gullible age of 12, Sarfaraz came to Chamba, and became a shepherd. That was the easiest thing he could do. Graze the sheep and tend the herd. Fellow people would help him, because he was a kid. But the helps only came from the Gujjar community, who were Muslims. Because Sarfaraz didn’t know which community he belonged to, he stuck to the one given by Mahmood.

Fate had many turns and twists. Sarfaraz settled at a dera (shelter) at Saho, which was on a high altitude, ideal for grazing sheep. Usually the shepherds settled there in summers, and returned to the plains in autumn. But Sarfaraz couldn’t afford to have two homes, or two lives. So he settled there, and nobody bothered because of him being a kid.

But the place had as many Gaddis (Hindus) as Gujjars (Muslims) there. And there was an air of tension between them. But Sarfaraz didn’t have any option, as going to Chamba would be very expensive. Besides it was hot there, contrary to this place, and being a kid, he loved to be amidst a beautiful valley. Saho was also a tourist place, rather a holy place. It was famous for its temple dedicated to Lord Chandra Shekhra i.e. the moon-crowned God, Shiva. The temple is hidden behind the locality in a tree grove. And because Sarfaraz didn’t believe in caste and creed so much, he often paid a visit to that place.

It was among those visits years later when he met Sumitra. It was indeed love at first sight. The moment came to a standstill when he saw her. She too was awed by his looks. It started raining as they were glued to each other and they knew in an instant that there was more to this than just meets the eye. The first rendezvous was just magical to them. They saved and savored as many images as they can in their mind of each other’s looks. It was manna from heaven.

Unke dekhne se jo aa jaati mooh par raunaq
Wo samajhte hai ki bimaar ka haal achha hai

Sumitra was a fair-skinned tall girl with a slender figure. Her hazel eyes spoke of notoriety. She had a ribbon tied to her hair, which she opened and let the strand of hair come to her face. Her hair smelled of the coconut oil. Sarafaraz could smell that. All of 16 years, she had already become a woman with a heavy bosom and a mature face. The aquiline nose complemented the other features. She liked Sarfaraz for his innocence that reflected on his face. He was a 17 yr old lean boy of an average height.

Cupid struck at the right places. And so forth, they started meeting at the temple regularly. Weeks went by and the silence between them became unbearable. So finally Sumitra went to him one evening and said, “Kyu ghoorte ho mujhe itna?”

khud hi ulhajte hain, phir khud hi ulhjan suljha lete hain
jab chhupana hi tha raaz to phir kyu nazre milate hai

That was the first time he had heard her speak. It seemed that an angel had personified into her. He felt weak at knees, and beseeched, “kitni khoobsurat aawaz hai aapki. Kya yeh awaaz main roz shaam ko sun sakta hu, pahaad ke uss paar, nadi ke kinare?” She just looked at him, amazed, and then cleared the anxious air with an impish guffaw. She went away without promising anything.

Tere vaade par jiye hum to yeh jaan jhooth jaana
Ke khushi se marr na jaate agar aitbaar hota

It’s true that waiting for someone special can be killing, yet it’s fun. You tend to know how desperate you are. You get to know how patient you are. You get to know how far you can go. Perplexed at the mixed feelings he had in his heart, he waited for Sumitra the next day, on the river bank. But she didn’t turn up. He was still not sure if he should have said what he said. And in his mind, he was framing sentences to apologize to her.

Shab-e-intezaar ki kashmakash me na pooch kaise sahar hui
Kabhi ek chirag bujha diya, kabhi ek chirag jala diya

Next day he went to the temple with a well-framed question, but she didn’t turn up again. Now he was feeling sorry for himself. Sun was about to set, so he went to the riverside to have a glimpse of the sky reflecting on the river, a rut he followed whenever he could. This was his way of winding up, spending time with himself. He sat there looking into the water. Fishes scurrying away by the rushing water. Incipient stones of all sizes settled here and there to stop the flow of the frenzy water, bearing its atrocities. Reflection of the sky, making the blue water transforming into another shade of blue. He loved looking down at water rather looking up at the sky.

“Waha kya dekh rahe ho? Udaas ho?”

Na namaz aati hai, na wazoo aata hai
Sajda kar leta hu jab saamne tu aata hai

He couldn’t imagine seeing her. She was wearing a blue salwar kameez, and at that moment, all the blues of sky and water looked pale in front of her. He kept looking at her, and finally smiled. She came close to him and sat beside him. They didn’t speak for some time, until he impregnated the silence with his words, “Mujhe aasman ki jhalak ko paani me dekhne me acha lagta hai. Alag hi rang chha jaata hai yaha.”

She smiled at him and ruffled his hair. Then she laughed at him while he kempt his hair. She then stood up to leave. His smile turned into a pout. She didn’t even look back. He didn’t follow her. He just sat there, looking at her precarious gait on the pebbled carpet.

Jo aau saamne unke to marahaba na kahe
Jo jaau waha se kahi ko to khairabaad nahin
(Marahaba: an exclamation of extreme pleasure; Khairabad: to bid farewell)

And when she was quite a distance away, he screamed, “Main yahi milunga kal bhi, aasman ko paani me dhoondte hue.” She looked back and screamed, “Taare bhi ache dikhte hai, chaand bhi, iss mue paani me.” He took her words religiously, and sat there whole night, looking at the water, at the reflection of the stars and the waning moon, they looked like a gleaming light larding the ambience. The pebbles looked milky white. The sound of the streaming gush was enchanting enough for him to sit and take notice. He had fallen for her, it was obvious.

Hijr (separation) ki raat kaatne wale
Kya karega agar sahar na hui

That was then, some 6 months ago. Since then, a lot had changed. Violence had taken its toll on the innocent people. But nothing dampened the spirit of these two lovers. They would meet everyday; she would come saying at home that she’s going to the temple. They had not only professed their love for each other, but also taken an oath that come what may, they’ll never part. Crazy would be an understatement to say so. The love which never sees any logic, the love which crosses any border, the loves that is above the man-made segmentations called caste and creed, the love that sees a hope everywhere, which was the love that Sarfaraz and Sumitra shared.

Muddaton se bichhade rahe, phir bhi gale to mil liye
Ham ko sharm aayi to kya, unko hijaab (shyness, curtain) aaya to kya

“Pata hai yahi mausam tha jab hum pehle pehle mile the, halki si thand, halki si awargi.”

“Haan, yahi nasha tha tab bhi hawaon me. Kuch nahi badla.” Sumitra added.

“Badla to hai, yeh paani, dekho, iska rang ubhar aaya hai. Yeh machhliya, khush rehti hai ab, yeh vaadiya, hariyali hi hariyali hai ab, aur yeh pathar, kaayi jam gayi hai inme bhi. Sab ko hawa lag gayi hai kambakht ishq ki.” Sarfaraz no longer spoke of practicality. His teenaged years were now really paying off. Else he was a man since the age of 12.

“Pata hai hamare me na ladki ke badan pe chandan ka lep lagaya jaata hai, kesar ke doodh se nehlaya jaata hai, haath me mehndi lagai jaati hai, choodiya pehnai jaati hai rang birangi, kya kuch nahi karte jab vyah hota hai.”

Na samjhe hai na samjhenge meri baat
Ke de dil unko na de zubaan mujhko aur

“Shaadi ki baatein kyu kar rahi hi aaj? Tujhe pata hai naa kaafi mushkil hai yeh abhi?”

“Agar haath pe haath dabe baithe rahe to shaadi to hogi, par kisi aur se.”

“Kyu?”

“Jaade (winters) aane wali hai. ManiMahesh ki yatra shuru hone wali hai. Apne mandir me mela lagta hai. To kaafi log aayenge. Aur mujhe darr hai koi rishta na aa jaaye, pichle saal bhi 4 rishte aaye the. Faraz, agar kuch na socha abhi to kaafi der ho jayegi.”

“Par kar bhi kya sakte hai Summi?”

“Agar tum mere pitaji se abhi baat karlo to theek hai, varna unhe gam rahega ke pehle nahi bataya tha!”

“Kya? Matlab wo nahi mane to hum bhaag jayenge?”

“Iski zaroorat na hi pade to acha hai.”

“Summi, dange fasad chal rahe hai, koi nahi ayega iss saal mele me. Bata raha hu. Parso hi 6 Gaddi (Hindu) maar diye gaye. Ab wo badle ki aag me Gujjro ko iss zameen pe bhed bakriyo ko aane nahi denge. Phir ladai hogi. Kaafi kuch badal sakta hai. Shayad mujhe bhi maar daale. Har musalmaan pe shaq kiya jaa raha hai ki uska taalluq Lashkar-e-toiba sa kisi ugarwadi sangathan se hai. Kya pata kya hone wala hai.”

Gaav mita jayega, shaher jal jayega
Zindagi tera chehra badal jayega

“Agar aisa hai to chhod dete hai na yeh jagah. Kya rakha hai aakhir yaha?”

“Kaha jayenge? Chamba? Waha to haalat aur kharab hai. Kisi aur gaav me jayenge to pakde jayenge. Aur kis gaav me dange nahi hai? Salooni tehsil, tissa ya Dhuriyali, jaha jao fasad hai waha. Aur meri yeh bhed bakriya, unka kya?”

“Kuch to sochna hi padega.”

Rago me daudte phirne ke hum nahi qaayal
Jab aankh se hi na tapka to phir lahoo kya hai


As the night crept in, the crescent moon made its way to lull the dreamers. But there were some troubled by thoughts and destiny. While Sarfarz was deep immersed in thoughts of how he’d take his life forward with Sumitra, she had other plans. In fact she was waiting for the perfect time to break the news to her dad and mom. But she knew her mom would still give it a thought, but dad wouldn’t. So she tiptoed into kitchen and whispered into her mother’s ear, “Mujhe aap se baat karni hai.”

Her mother was quite skeptical of Sumitra’s longer evening stays at the temple, so she could sense trouble. “Kya baat hai, khul ke bata.”

“Main ek ladke se roz milti hoon, mandir me.”

“Mujhe pata that tu kuch galat kaam karti hai, tabhi itni der lag jaati thi naa?”

“Kuch galat nahi kiya maine, hum dono samajhdaar hai, galat-sahi samajhte hai.”

“Oh, to baat yaha tak pahuch gayi hai, kya chahti hai?”

“Main Sarfaraz se pyar karti hoon, aur shaadi…”

“Shaadi? Sarfaraz se? Yeh wahi mussalman ladka hai naa jo anaath hai?”

“Jee.”

“Tere babuji aisa nahi hone denge.”

“Aap to kam se kam mere saath ho naa?”

“Jo galat hai, who galat hai. Main iss paap me bhagidaar nahi hona chahti.”

Sumitra’s convincing reaped no benefits. The jolts she experienced were somewhat she was prepared for. It was going to be difficult; she knew that, but kept faith. All because she had made up her mind, that come what may, she would marry Sarfaraz. Such was the intensity. Still she kept her cool and went to her father.

“Pitaji, mujhe aapse baat karni hai.”

“Bol meri bitiya rani, kya kaam hai?”

“Mujhe aapko kisi se milana hai.”

“Milana hai? Kisse?”

“Sarfaraz se. Mujhe woh acha lagta hai.”

“Acha lagta hai? Are tu abhi itni badi kaha hui hai jo aisi baatein karne lagi?”

“17 ki hone wali hu. Aur kitna bada hona padta hai aisi baat karne ke liye?”

“Beti, dekh tujhe pyar se samjha raha hoon. Yeh baatein humpe chhod de, hum tere liye heera dhoond ke layenge.”

“Sarfaraz bhi kisi heere se kam nahi hai.”

“Sarfaraz? Woh ladka, wo jo anath hai? Are mari, tujhe wahi mila tha? Uske paas apne rehne ka thikana nahi hai, uske saath kaise zindagi beetayegi?”

“Hum kuch na kuch soch lenge. Shaher chale jayenge. Waha kuch kaam kar lenge.”

“Aur woh mussalmaan bhi hai. Naak kat jayegi meri biradri me.”

“Pitaji, mujhe kisi se kuch nahi lena dena. Mujhe to bas…”

“Raat bahut ho gayi hai, jao jaa ke so jao.”

“Magar…”

“Ek shabd aur nahi. Jao, so jao.”

Sumitra dug her face on the pillow and cried all night. She didn’t have a clue of what’s coming up. In the morning, as she woke up, her mother stood there, smiling. She saw her face and thought that she’s trying to be nice. She was about to cry again when her mother said, “Jaa, bula laa Sarfaraz ko, tere baba usse baat karenge.” Sumitra was so happy that she hugged her mother tight. So tight that her mother struggled for breath.

Today was the day. What a beautiful morning. It was fabled that when a morning goes good, the day follows suit. And she was just too happy to see what’s going on in the village. People had gathered here and there and there was some thing going on. But she didn’t care a pebble that day. She just went to Sarfaraz’s dera and knocked the door. But the door flung open by the knock. She went inside, and not finding Sarfaraz there, came out calling him. He wasn’t in the sight. She was getting nervous. Unsure of what to do, she ran back where people had gathered. After some introspection from some old ladies, she got to know that 9 persons are missing. 3 being Gujjars and rest Gaddis.

Soon after police arrived. There was an erratic search and all the houses were intruded. Police didn’t find Sarfaraz at his home. Instead they recovered a cache of assault rifles, small arms, grenades and pressure switches for improvised explosive devices.


(This is a work of fiction, and by this, i dont intend to upest any person or community. The places i've chosen have experienced these kinda spats but everything's under control as for now.)